


nice to meet you, where you been? (i could show you incredible things)

by breaddalton



Series: stolen kisses, pretty lies [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, canon divergence if she squint, grant ward is probably not hydra, mostly skye before she ever leaves the van, the continuation of this dumb stolen baggage adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:52:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breaddalton/pseuds/breaddalton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>skye gets confronted by a tall, dark stranger who is definitely not named stan anderson, who she definitely stole some luggage from. </p><p>(au stolen luggage, read part 1 to get the general story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	nice to meet you, where you been? (i could show you incredible things)

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist adding to this series. It might end up being a bunch of little fics of Grant Ward probably not being a Hydra agent, and Skye being his live-in hacker girlfriend who might never join SHIELD. WHO KNOWS. Enjoy!
> 
> also sorry if you guys are tired of getting beaten to death with taylor swift lyrics. i swear to god the next fic will be something else.

When Skye had been looking at the pictures of Stan Anderson from Michigan, she had thought to herself that he didn't look like a murderer. Not that murderers had a type, but that good-little-boy look was oozing out past the grimace that he pasted on for his photo.

Now, staring up at a towering man in black, she was definitely ready to eat her own words.

"I think you might have something of mine?" he reiterated, this time as a question.

She imagined that she had quite the deer-in-the-headlights look, but even with the fear she had coursing through her, she was a little annoyed at the touch of amusement in Stan Anderson from Michigan's face. She had no idea how long he had been standing behind her, or what he had seen. 

It was very possible he hadn't seen her pick up his ID. It was possible he just walked up.

A less flustered, less hungry, smarter Skye would be quick on her feet. She would find a way out of this. But in the heat of the moment, she replied to him with her first instinct (regrettably). "¿Qué? No hablo español, señor," she managed, with a passable Mexican accent. God, she hoped the taco truck guy wasn't listening.

To her further frustration, Stan seemed to completely give up at holding back his amused smirk, putting his hands on his hips as if he was preparing to scold her. "No problemo, señorita. Hablo español también. Creo que tiene algo que me pertenece. ¿Una maleta, tal vez?"

Frozen in her place, her memory was bringing up the Spanish passport from the stack of fake IDs and she was mentally kicking herself for choosing the one language that 80% of the people in Los Angeles could speak. Her limited Spanish knowledge managed to distinguish maleta as suitcase. Fuck.

He seemed as cool as cucumber, while her eyes darted around for a getaway. There were enough people around that she doubted he would do anything like 'cross her off' but she wasn't about to take any chances. Briefly, she lamented the fact that she was about to be short a hundred bucks and three burritos as she heard the man behind her call her order out.

Stan looked up, distracted for a second. She took her chance.

Closing her hand into a fist, she used all of the force she had into landing a punch hard into his abdomen, a literal low-blow. Too bad all she hit was something akin to reinforced steel. Jesus Christ, was he like this all over?

It barely seemed to phase him, despite the way he flinched in surprise. Not giving him time to recover, she sent a sharp kick to his shin given the fact that he might be too tall for a successful knee in the groin. That send him groaning, shooting her a look of surprise in the process.

The look she shot back as she bolted in the direction of her van said something like, "Yeah, fuck you. I'm scrappy and I know Spanish, Stan."

Running was something she was very good at. Especially when it came in the case of running for her life from possible murderers not-from-Michigan. Pulling out the keys in her pocket as she raced towards her van, looking behind her to see him crossing the distance without much effort. Though his face was unreadable, she guessed it wasn't the same smirk. 

Reaching the back of her van, she unlocked the back doors and leapt in, slamming them behind her. Immobilized by the massive suitcase in her way, she unzipped it quickly as she heard the loud "Hey!" outside the van doors and yanked out the first gun she got her hands on. She'd held a gun only once in her life, it was horrible and she could barely work it. But maybe, in this case, her survival instincts would kick in and she could throw it at his face and knock him out.

Before she could do anything else the doors were yanked wide open and she pointed the gun at Stan. He wasn't even out of breath, but he definitely didn't look amused anymore. He put his hands up as she trained the gun at him, his eyes jumping from her face to the suitcase at the bottom of her feet. "I guess, I was right." 

Somehow the smugness was still there, despite his scowl. 

Upset that she wasn't being taken seriously, she spat questions at his face without really thinking. "Are you some kind of terrorist? A murderer? Assassin? Spy? Who the hell smuggles weapons like this on a plane?"

"I'm not a terrorist, calm down. Put down the gun. Let me explain." He reached for the gun. Skye started, pulling back the hammer of the pistol like she had seen on TV. His hand jumped back in surrender. A small sense of satisfaction that she'd caused the jolly green giant made of steel to react in some way other than amusement was enough to give her the confidence to edge out of the van, pushing him back with the weapon.

Stepping out of the van, she squared her shoulders and frowned gesturing to the bag with a nod of her head. "If you're just the average guy, why are you carrying around enough grenades to level the airport? Why do you have all those IDs and cash? I bet your name isn't even Stan." The last sentence sounded childishly spiteful even to her, but she wasn't about to backpedal.

"My name is not Stan. And I never said I was the average guy." His tone was meant to sound menacing and it worked, he creatively managed to avoid her other questions. 

Skye swallowed hard, holding the gun tightly as she felt her palms sweat in anticipation. "What so you're some kind of secret agent?" Another childish notion. She was terrible at holding people at gunpoint. As she watched him adjust his stance, she heard the crinkling of plastic and her eyes traveled to his wrist where a heavy bag of something was dangling from his arm. Were those... her burritos?

What kind of crazed person was he?

"Not necessarily." His hands moved to reach for something and she jumped back holding the gun to him, her hands not all together steady. "Easy, easy. I am reaching for my proof." That gave her pause, and it might have been the best moment for him to disarm her, but he continued to reach in his back pocket and pull out something that looked like a badge.

Fuck.

Fight or flight kicked in over time. 

Terrorists were bad, government was worse.

As he flashed the badge, she saw the metal reflect the shadow of an insignia against the street lights. Taking a step forward to read it, she was suddenly pulled in with his free hand and in a matter of seconds he had yanked the gun out of her hands and into his. She'd barely managed a yelp of protest before she was completely defenseless. Well, now he had the burritos, the gun, and her life in his hands. 

Except he checked the chamber of the gun and the magazine, without giving her much pause. Right. They had been empty. The sad fact that they had just had a stand off based on an empty threat was not lost on her. Before she could say anything her stomach growled out in hunger and he brought his attention back to her. Backing up, she looked around for some sort of other weapon to defend herself. The pepper spray on her keys was in the car, the rest of the weapons were useless, and unless he was suddenly impossibly sluggish, she definitely didn't have time to grab the crowbar jammed under the driver's seat.

"Hey, easy," he read her expression immediately. "Look, here, take these. You left them at the stand." He offered her the bag of burritos she had ordered in her voracious hunger. But she looked back at the suitcase in the van, uncertain of what to do. She wasn't about to trade some lives for Mexican food and a quick getaway. 

"Who are you? What are you doing with these weapons? Are you with the Feds? Because this does not look like regulation stuff." Not that she really knew anything about what was regulation, but she could pretend like she did.

Sighing, he dropped the bag at her feet and slipped the gun into the back of his pants. "I'm a government agent. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. My name's not Stan Anderson. It's Grant Ward." Gesturing to the suitcase in her van, "I was coming back from a mission. Got caught up getting off the plane and it seems like you capitalized on that opportunity."

Staring back at him in disbelief, she looked from him to the suitcase. "Let me see your badge." The badge that he had been holding had somehow magically returned to his pocket in the midst of him disarming her. He handed it over to her without hesitation. Her hunger gnawed at her, but she could not believe she had actually stumbled upon a legitimate spy. This took precedence over burritos. 

Opening the badge, she studied the identification. Grant Ward. Specialist. S.H.I.E.L.D. 

She'd heard of the operation before, through the Rising Tide, but how she managed to actually meet an agent was either a stroke of the worst luck ever, or some kind of cruel twist of fate.

"Believe me?" he asked. She looked up and, once again, he was closer to her looking down at her with an amused smirk. Yeah, he looked like a Grant Ward.

"No," she said stubbornly. Even if she did. Now it was about pride.

He frowned, an exasperated sigh escaped his lips. She decided she liked seeing him frustrated. "Okay. What can I do to convince you I'm not a terrorist or some kind of mass murderer? I brought back your burritos, what kind of terrorist chases a crazy girl who just assaulted him with the food she ordered?"

"You forgot my horchata," she retorted, haughtily.

"Yeah well, I wasn't about to grab that when you went full sprint on me. Hell, I didn't even have time to grab you any sauces."

If he was trying to get into her good graces, it was working painfully well. The smell of the burritos on the ground wafted up to her nose, as she crossed her arms. "Well, I need some kind of assurance you aren't going to go throw these grenades at a playground or something."

It didn't make much sense to her, why she was perpetuating this conversation. She already had more than enough proof to satisfy he wasn't a real threat to anyone, and even believed him when he said he was a secret agent. Perhaps some part of her knew that after she gave back his suitcase and picked up the bag of food, they would go their separate ways. And that disappointed her, maybe even upset her.

"What kind of assurance? I already knew you were camping out in front of my apartment for the better half of the afternoon. Even let you take that cat nap."

She tried not to look shocked at his observational skills.

"You don't exactly blend in with this van."

"Hey, watch what you say about my van!"

His eyebrows raised in surprise to her quick retort. "I'm just saying. It sticks out, and I notice these things." She didn't reply. He was right, this was a nicer neighborhood and her van did not look like it belonged. Especially not to someone who lived there. "Can I get my stuff back?" he asked, his voice interrupting her thoughts.

The question snapped her back into reality. The fairy tale (however twisted) was over. Nodding slightly, she leaned over and opened the other door to let him grab his suitcase. She bent down to pick up the bag of food and set it on the edge of the van. Pulling the stack of cash from her pocket, she figured the right thing was to return everything she'd stolen, even if part of her wanted so badly to keep it. She was running on fumes as it was.

"Do you live in here?"

Biting her lip, she fought to keep the shame from reaching her face. "No." A pause. "Yes."

Setting the suitcase down on the ground, he eyed her setup before looking down at the wad of cash in her hand. Without hesitation, he pushed it back towards her. "Call it a finder's fee."

Skye did her best of trying to deny it, but he persisted in pushing the money back at her until she pocketed it. Feeling the hard plastic of Stanley Anderson next to the cash, she pulled that out. "You might want this back."

Grant smiled (it does not make her stomach flip, nope, not at all), shaking his head, "I think you thoroughly blew that cover for me. Keep it or throw it away."

Nodding in response, she put it back into her pocket. She'd throw it away later. Or not. Something to remember you by.

Backing up a little from his close proximity, she shut one of the doors and pulled the bag of burritos out from the van before shutting the other door. "Uh... I guess that's that. I should probably go."

Grant looked like he was inclined to agree, but stopped. "What's your name?"

"Skye." No harm in telling him.

He frowned a little, like he was going to ask for a 'real name'.

"Just Skye."

The frown dissipated to one of those smiles again and her stomach did that flip that she could be assured was because of long term starvation. "Okay, Skye." It sounded sinfully good on his lips. Looking at the corner of the street and back at his apartment, he nodded at her. "I don't know what your plans are, but I assume you might want a replacement horchata? I haven't eaten yet and I just got off a sixteen hour flight. Want to join me?"

Hesitating, Skye looked from her van to Grant to the food cart by the corner of the street. The smart choice would be to say no and drive back to her spot behind the café in the alley. That is what the smart Skye would do.

But the smart Skye was lonely, and cold, and hungry. She wasn't getting offers of pseudo-dates from tall, dark, and handsome spies. Biting her lip, she took one last look at her van before she decided smart Skye could take the night off and enjoy some Mexican food while dumb Skye ate it with Grant Ward.

Grant looked back at her expectantly before his face broke into a grin at her nod. "Good, because the smell of those burritos is killing me."

**Author's Note:**

> Who wants to go eat burritos like right now? (Can you tell that I really do?)
> 
> Anyways, obviously keeping this open ended. Shout outs if you guys want more, I have some more ideas swirling but nothing really substantial. This kind of snowballed into something crazy after too much time thinking in the shower.
> 
> feedback and comments are welcome!
> 
>  
> 
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> 
> [\+ tumblr](http://exsanguinate.tumblr.com)


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